


Lifted By The Throat

by Katrine



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Choking, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It's hating your work time, M/M, Violence, don't read it, this is awful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 12:19:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katrine/pseuds/Katrine
Summary: All the Rangers are gone. All except one.





	Lifted By The Throat

**Author's Note:**

> hhhhhh I hate this

“Why? Why would you do this?!” 

 

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, a lighting-quick stab lingering, not unlike the pain in your back. His hands are around your throat, lifting you like a twisted parody of a sacrifice. The drowned gasps coming out of your throat barely register as words, your body caught in a jerking struggle. Daniel is hovering, too high up, ground too far away. You’re like a bird hit by a plane; the descent can be a quick thing, a meteor hitting the dirt, but you’ll crash and burn either way. This is the way you want to go, feeling your flesh immolating as you’re caught by your own fire. Your lungs are aching, clawed gloves scratching at his hands, grasping for any kind of relief. He’s not letting go.

 

Your back burns, bruised and throbbing. Something's broken, but that’s nothing new. Whether you’re damaged or defective, your body is already a temple to the slow spread of ruin. The degradation. Herald is gazing at you with hollow eyes, emptied out by a lingering despair, a grueling anger. Devouring. Consuming. His expression is a parody of the posterboy he’s supposed to be. 

 

The Marshal he’s supposed to be.

 

There’s nobody else left.

 

Your laughter is a deranged cackle, filled with emotions burning at your mind like a bath of acid. A repressed frustration growing into a tsunami, crashing into the cliffs of your inner self, beating away at the soft edges until only lifeless rock remains. You were already dead and he never understood. He does now. So you let your hands dig into his arms, into the suit hiding scarred muscle. The world is pain and you let him deceive you into thinking it could be more, let yourself think the endless battering would stop. It didn’t. The world has enacted violence upon you and you’re paying it back in full. You never had a childhood but you imagine this is how it feels, playing with dolls and ripping their heads off. Creating drama for hollow puppets to act out. His hero became his lover, a soft kiss in the heady afterglow, comforting words in the bloody aftermath.

 

You took that from him, too.

 

“I did it ‘cause I wanted to,” you choke out between your broken fits of laughter, heaving for breath as molten lead floods your lungs. Not even dolls are supposed to be held like this, too much weight carried by arms with nothing to hold onto. Sooner or later even the sturdiest of joints break, and you may not be made of plastic, but you know your flesh is fake. Only pain makes it feel solid. Your voice is nasty and scratched up, weathered and blessedly real as you speak. “Because I could. Because it felt good.” 

 

Cracked lips stretch into a grin.

 

“And I suppose you’ve caught me now, haven’t you,  _ Marshal _ ?”

 

Herald’s face is a promise of violence, his eyes a mirror to yours. His bared teeth, tightening fingers. Your strangled laughter. It feels so good to throw it all away. Into the bonfire. Just burn. Crash. Die. 

 

Your past lover’s words are the caress of a chainsaw, gently carving your heart apart. 

 

“Yes. And you will never hurt me again.”

 

The tightening grasp hurts, makes you struggle, gasp for breath. Your cheeks are wet, a salty tinge mixing with the metallic feel in your mouth. You think he gets it. It’s time to let the hungering blaze burn away what’s left of your memory.

 

Sidestep is dead.

 

For real, this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Troblin from the discord server for helping me out with this fic! Helped it be a better read by far.


End file.
